


George's Guest

by FloreatCastellum



Series: Slice of Life One-Shots [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Harry, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, F/M, Gen, Overhearing Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: Quite frankly both of them would just rather they died on the spot.





	George's Guest

The surveillance had been dull, and his back was aching from sitting and watching the building for so long, so it was with great relief that Harry was relieved of his shift by Proudfoot. He checked his watch to see that it had gone one thirty am, and he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. 

‘I’ve got to be back in the office in a few hours,’ he said to Proudfoot. 

‘You chose the career, mate,’ Proudfoot said with a shrug. 

‘Mmm.’ He raised his hand in thanks/farewell and walked far enough down the dodgy East London street that the crack of his disapparation wouldn’t be heard by those they were monitoring. Within seconds, he was in Diagon Alley, in front of the little battered door at the side of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He fumbled with his keys, yawning widely, and found himself in the small hallway at the foot of the long staircase. The floor was cluttered with shoes, and in his exhausted state, he didn’t notice the glittery silver heels. 

His feet creaked on the staircase, and it occurred to him that though Ron was out on an all-nighter raid, George was probably trying to sleep. So he trod lightly, and swept silently through the living room to his room, closing the door as gently as he could manage. 

After pulling off his robes, placing his glasses on the bedside table, and collapsing onto his bed in just his boxers, he yawned once more and closed his eyes, fully expecting to sink into sleep…

A giggle. 

His eyes snapped open. 

Yes, there it was again, a woman’s giggle. 

And then, a woman, loudly sighing in ecstasy. 

‘Oh bloody hell,’ he muttered quietly to himself. He rolled over and put the pillow over his head, which worked for a while until he could hear a repetitive banging, and the woman’s cries, rhythmic and high. 

He tried muffliato, but that did nothing - it would only cause buzzing in the ears of people trying to listen to him. Could he cast a silencing charm on them? No, that would be rude, and they would definitely notice and he would ruin their evening. They weren’t doing anything wrong, he supposed, and, if he really disassociated himself from it all, it was probably good that George was… Getting out there. 

He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out two knuts that had been rolling around, pointing his wand at them and charming them into earplugs. They weren’t as comfortable as he would have liked, and they didn’t block out all of the noise, but they would do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Unfortunately, it meant that when he did wake, his alarm had been shouting at him for at least 20 minutes. 

‘YOU’LL BE LATE, YOU USELESS FAILURE!’ it screeched at him, it’s arms swinging around the clockface madly as it jumped. 

‘All right,’ Harry frowned at it. ‘No need to get personal.’ 

He tapped it with his wand to settle it and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling towards his basin where he splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth. As he was brushing, he heard a distinctly high-pitched sneeze from the kitchen, and he froze as he remembered, then rolled his eyes. Bloody hell. Whoever it was would be out there, he’d have to walk past them to get to work. There was no wriggling out of it, he couldn’t loiter in here until she went away, he was already late - he didn’t even have time to shower. 

Resigning himself to the awkward moment and hoping if he was quick enough she wouldn’t recognise him, he dressed and tried to flatten his hair out of habit, then opened his door. 

He stopped dead. 

At the kitchen island, sitting on the bar stool in one of George’s shirts, was a very familiar woman, a spoon of cereal half raised to her mouth. She looked as shocked to see him as he was to see her. 

‘Harry,’ she blurted out. 

‘Angelina,’ he said, staring at her. 

‘I… I didn’t realise George had housemates.’

‘Yeah, me and Ron moved in a few months ago. I didn’t realise…’ 

They were both blushing furiously. Angelina had put down her spoon. The silence stretched. She took a breath. ‘Haven’t seen you since-’

‘The battle, yeah.’ 

‘Yeah… Although, we didn’t really get to chat much,’ she said, smiling awkwardly. 

Harry forced a laugh. ‘Right.’ 

‘I suppose the last time we really saw each other was on the Quidditch team.’

‘Yeah… Years ago.’ 

She nodded, pressing her lips together, and eventually said, ‘wow, well, a lot’s changed, look at you… You’re an auror.’ 

‘Yeah and you’re… shagging George,’ he found himself saying stupidly.

She took a deep breath and smiled in the painful sort of way of someone who was wishing they could die on the spot. 

‘So… I’m really late for work,’ said Harry awkwardly, pointing lamely at the stairs behind her. 

‘Oh, right, yeah, of course you are. George is still in bed,’ she blurted out at him. 

‘Right.’ 

‘Right.’ 

He hurried past her. ‘I’ll… I’ll see you later,’ he said, grabbing his cloak off the banister, cringing violently. 

‘Yeah, see you, Harry,’ she called weakly. 

As he left the house, he bumped into Ron, pale and exhausted looking after his night shift, on his way in. 

‘Morning,’ Ron said to him. ‘You’re late.’ 

‘Your brother has a guest,’ warned Harry, and without another word, he gave Ron a bracing clap on the shoulder, twisted, and vanished on the spot.


End file.
